


Special Victims

by BendyDick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Rape, Reichenbach Falls, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BendyDick/pseuds/BendyDick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands started to pull down my zipper and for a brief moment I honestly thought I would let him go through with this. He kept muttering how much he wanted me, needed me. It was all things I wanted to hear. I hadn’t been laid in months and his confident hands felt so good wrapping around my cock until he looked up with me with those shamelessly pleading eyes and said, “Tell me what to do daddy.” My heart sank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special Victims

Thousands of children fall through the cracks each year. Children are abducted in parks, at parties or walking home from school. Many of these children never see their families again, and those that are lucky enough to be saved are never the same. 

James Moriarty was just ten years old when he was abducted while walking home from school in Dublin, Ireland. A short little boy, big cheeks and round doe eyes with little ability to fight off the two large men that grabbed him from behind and covered his mouth with a chloroform rag. He didn't go home until he was sixteen. He killed both of his abusers after they told him he was too old to stay. He didn't know what to do. 

A big eyed, scrawny teenager covered in blood from head to toe slammed open my office door. There was an eerie smile on his lips. I have no idea how he got past the front desk or even close to my door, especially since I was a DI on the upper levels of the Yard, but I didn't have time to ask,

"I killed them." He kept repeating, taking small steps into my office, blood marking his path. "I did it."

I didn't know what to say. He didn't look much older than thirteen with his wiry malnourished body. He sat down in one of the boxy office chairs in front of my desk and smiled at me. Always smiling like a predator. I don't know what made me listen to anything he had to say without calling in some cop to handcuff him. It might have been the joyous spark in his eyes or the entrance. Never in all my time at the Yard had I seen such an entrance and I don't think I ever will again. 

For almost an hour I listened to him explain his kidnapping. He told me about the videos, even brought a sketchy looking porn site up on my laptop. The pictures featured the kid in front of me being bent over faceless mens’ knees, spanked, and 'filled up' with just everything a person could imagine and it left me more sick than the fear my hard drive was going to crash from whatever virus was on that sort of site.

“I got too old.” He said, mindlessly clicking through the pictures with a blank look on his face. “They had to put me down soon. Am I in trouble?” 

I didn’t know what to say to that. The kid killed someone, but it wasn’t really like he had much of a choice. Eventually I got the laptop away from him so he would stop clicking through countless photo shoots and videos that went back to when his balls still were tucked up inside him. He seemed sad that I did. It was strange; I thought he’d be relieved. 

In the days that followed, the boy was bounced around from foster house to foster house when he grew too much for the people caring for him. It wasn’t fair to him to be moved around so much but both his mom and dad were dead. Apparently they were dead since before he was abducted and his foster parents never reported him missing. Said they had runaways all the time. If they didn’t report them missing they still got the government checks for taking care of the kids. 

James had a way with the other boys. He was high strung, emotional, liked to start fires and liked to play ‘games’. It seemed normal for a kid that had been through as much as he had. Until the games started to wind up on my desk. I was sent complaint after complaint about dead animals he had wrapped and given as presents. He wrapped a package of some sort of chemical that exploded when it was opened. It sent his foster sister to the hospital with skin damage. Told them it was just a game. It wasn’t my division but they said the boy only listened to me.

So, I called him in. We went to a small amusement park that had portable rides and exhibits. Jim spent a long time in the snake petting zoo even though he told me he was too old for carnivals; that he didn’t like them because he did a ‘fuck shoot’ in one once and had to ‘pleasure’ a clown on stage. Sometimes I think he said things just to see people’s reactions. Didn’t mean I didn’t believe his story though. He seemed to quiet down once I got him some kettle corn and let him ride one of the roller coasters. When we were walking around admiring the lights and sounds while the sunset I asked him about the gifts. 

“They deserved it.” His dark eyes seemed to glow red due to the Ferris wheel lights as he spoke; I couldn’t help but see it like a window into the boys soul and it gave me the creeps. “They picked on me and told me I was a whore, so I put an end to their jokes. Just like I did the clowns when I sucked him so hard he-” I stopped him. I didn’t want to hear it even if I already knew. 

The Yard thought it best to put him in counseling. For some ungodly reason I had been given the task to pick him up after school and make sure he got to his appointments on time. It didn’t make sense since it wasn’t even my duty. I was an inspector. I went to crime scenes and arrested suspects. I didn’t drive around mental cases, but the kid asked for me and I didn’t want to let him down. So, I did it, even with my massive work load. 

Each Thursday I would drive down to the local school and pick James up. He would ramble off about stars and math equations, the perfect way to avoid conviction. I didn’t so much listen as nod my head and hum whenever he took a break for breath. He was diagnosed with manic depression, and then later it was changed to psychopath which didn’t shock me or him. 

His ability to interact with people was amazing. He was a master manipulator, got himself out of expulsion a few times just to prove it. But when it came to understanding emotion or even feeling it Jim seemed to draw a blank. It was obvious. He seemed to think the world revolved around him. He had a temper when anything didn’t go his way. He seemed to only talk to me; no one at school liked him according to him. And when asked about why he would do things that wound up hurting other people he would shrug and say it was fun. Impulsive and guiltless, a psychopath through and through. 

It didn’t surprise me when he called me one morning with a manic gleam to his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but I did it again.” And with that hung up. I had no clue what he was talking about. When I went to work I heard about a teenage swimmer who had drowned in a pool before a big qualifying race. There was a lanky, curly haired boy who burst into the lounge shouting theories about missing shoes and it being a murder. It didn’t click for me until I went home that Jim had ‘done it’. 

Not that I ever told anyone. I had a soft spot for the creepy sod. 

When I picked him up Thursday he told me it was his birthday. “Seventeen,” he announced with a smile and demanded I take him out for dinner. I rolled my eyes and he looked so hurt I had to agree. I waited the hour or so outside the midtown office before he scampered out, a big grin and slightly flushed cheeks. I was about to ask him what happened at his appointment until he told me no one ever celebrated his real birthday before. 

“Really,” I asked him and he nodded. 

“With my daddies, another year older meant another year closer to my execution. I never told them what day it was so they made one up for me. They would throw a party with my fans and I would dance for them. I was the birthday boy after all. My presents I had to unwrap with my teeth and then I had to work for the creamy good part, slowly wrapping my lips around it until I could suckle down the sweet juices.” His voice never once faltered, his dark eyes stayed on my face and the way he shaped each word had me feel warm without wanting to. I didn’t answer him. He didn’t say anything else the rest of the car ride. 

We ate in a small Italian restaurant. James didn’t order anything but I had a pizza which he stole bits of. He never ate much but he never ate as little as he did that night. I asked him why and he smiled, inching closer on the vinyl covered bench and whispered into my ear, “I am saving room.”

“For?” I shifted in my seat but didn’t pull away. I’d known him for a year. His tactics didn’t faze me anymore.

“My present. It’s tradition. You’ll give me a present won’t you?” My crotch felt heavy and I quickly scooted away trying to put as much distance between me and the clearly sexually confused teenager. I really should have seen the signs. He had started to lean closer to me when I drove him to his appointments and he started to say goodbye with a hug and still I remained oblivious. 

“Traditions can change kid.” His smile fell and we both left. I dropped him off at his new foster home after picking him up a bag of sweets at a gas station. He didn’t say thank-you. Just popped one of the hard candies in his mouth and sucked it like his life depended on it. 

Later that night, when I was finally in the safety of my own flat, I wanked to the image of his cheeks going in and out, tiny pink tongue licking away the sugar syrup that drizzled out his mouth and the way his heavy lidded eyes fluttered as he reached for another one. 

It was a few months later before James made another move. The appointments had decreased from every Thursday to twice a month. Apparently the kid started to show change and seemed to be getting better. I was proud of him, not that I ever told him that. 

We were in my car and I was driving him back home when his little hand crawled up my thigh. I glared over at him and brushed it away but it just found its way back, sliding higher up near my groin. “James,” I warned but he didn’t stop. He was smiling almost creepily as his fingertips brushed across my hardened cock. 

“I know you want me,” he cooed into my ear. I did. I did but he was no more than a boy. A very sick boy. I pulled the car over by the side of the road only a few blocks from his house. By his face I knew he was expecting something different but I just opened the door and told him to get out. Several choice cuss words were flung at me before the door was slammed so hard the car shook and James walked away. 

I would have followed just behind him to make sure he made it home safe but I knew he wasn’t heading home. He rarely spent any time there.

He didn’t call me to pick him up from school the next week, or the week after that. He had stopped going to his meetings. The counselor called me asking if I had seen James lately and I told her no. We talked for quite some time about his process and his mind. She told me that he was frustrated sexually, I couldn’t tell her I already knew. She went on to say that Jim couldn’t seem to ‘get off’ without someone telling him he was allowed to and since no one was there to do it he was suffering. It was awkward discussing the topic with her and I quickly made an excuse and hung up.

About a month later I came home after a few drinks with the guys to find James flipping through channels on my telly. He was sprawled out on my couch looking like he had been there for a while and made himself at home. He looked up at me as I walked by to set my things in the kitchen. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what to say, Hell, I didn’t even know how the kid got my address. 

“I missed you,” he told me as he sauntered into my kitchen behind me. I could smell after shave and that surprised me because I didn’t think he had hair to shave. His soft Irish lilt was comforting after its prolonged absence in my life but there was something about it that made my hairs stand on end. 

“Why are you here James?”

“Did you miss me?”

“Why are you here,” I asked again and the boy cornered me in the small kitchen. I placed my brief case on the counter and my keys trying to remain as normal as possible while his hands wrapped around my waist. With his frail body pressed so close to me the smell of his aftershave burned my nostrils. It smelled too strong of sandal wood and pine for James. Far too grown up but I had a feeling that was what the kid was going for. 

James was rutting against my body, his hands sinking lower down my stomach to the growing bludge in my trousers. I felt sick that just having him rutting his hips against my upper thighs was enough cause me to start holding in moans. I didn’t want to like this. I needed to be the adult and tell the boy no, set boundaries no one else had.

“Do you like this? Do you want me,” he kept asking and I couldn’t respond. Of course I liked it. He had grown up from the scrawny, under fed boy that barged into my office a year and a half ago. He was taller now, with more muscle on his thin frame but he was still just a scared little kid. I pushed him away and tried to get around him. “No,” he screamed and his small hands pushed me back up against the counter. 

I have never seen anyone’s eyes look as desperate as his did in that moment. I have interrogated men who were going on trial for killing whole families that didn’t look as needy or scared. “Let me do this,” he begged, lowering himself to his knees in front of me while those captivating eyes stayed locked on my own. “I need this. I’ll be good.” 

His hands started to pull down my zipper and for a brief moment I honestly thought I would let him go through with this. He kept muttering how much he wanted me, needed me. It was all things I wanted to hear. I hadn’t been laid in months and his confident hands felt so good wrapping around my cock until he looked up with me with those shamelessly pleading eyes and said, “Tell me what to do daddy.” 

My heart sank. I didn’t want to be placed on the same levels of the perverts who screwed up his mind like this. The kid wouldn’t stop though. He kept begging me to tell him what I wanted. I just wanted him to shut up. I pushed him away from my crotch and pulled him up into my arms. He fought against me, trying his hardest to get back on his knees. The noises he was making scared my soul and when I finally got him down on the couch his eyes were empty.

Frustrated tears fell down his cheeks when I pulled away, my hands still holding his arms to his sides. "Please," he whimpered and leaned in to kiss my lips. "I didn’t mean to upset you daddy." His sloppy little kisses found their way to my neck and devolved to messy suckling. 

I told him to stop but he wouldn’t listen. Even after I shook him hard and slammed him back against the couch arm he squirmed to get closer to me. I don’t even think it was so much sexual for him. His prick had been placid the whole time he was reaching for me and it made me feel worse. 

It was so clear he just wanted attention, wanted me to hold him and tell him everything was okay and somewhere in that brilliant mind of his that had gotten perverse. I tried to hold him in my arms, rock him back and forth, tell him everything was alright, that he didn’t need to be a ‘good boy’ for me. He just got mad. "Daddy’s needed to take care of their babies", he screamed loud enough for my prudish neighbors to hear. That was my limit.

I lifted him off the couch, grabbed the bag I noticed next to the door and plopped him on his arse outside with instructions to go home. Of course he didn’t listen. I could hear him out there. He was crying loudly and each time I peeped out the front window I could see his shivering body curled up on my doormat. I think he fell asleep there too. I couldn’t say for sure, I locked myself in my bedroom after an hour so that I wouldn’t let him back in. I didn’t know how to control him. Just knew I needed to say no. 

He was gone when I called his foster parents. They told me he was old enough they didn’t care where he ran off to at that point. It was too much work to keep him there. At least they were honest. 

Sherlock came along shortly after. He had been the boy shouting about shoes when the kid from James’ school was found dead. I never told him that he had been right. The kid didn’t need the ego boost. 

I must have a thing for taking in damaged goods. I found the curly haired sod laying in a puddle of God knows what in some back alley off in Soho. His body was pumping through some sort of drug that made him twitch and spout off random theories on everything. It was a lot like Jim, just without the empty black eyes. 

We struck up a deal. He was allowed on as many cases my unit had to offer long as he went cold turkey. It worked well. He only had a few slip ups and when I cut off he ‘mental stimulation’ he needed he quickly folded back in line. It wasn’t long before be we found ourselves back in my flat one afternoon, a bottle of wine gone between us and a soft jazz playing in the background. 

Everything about Sherlock’s features were pretty. He had pretty little curls that fell over his pretty blue cat like eyes that were just interesting enough to draw attention away from those pretty cupid bow shaped lips, so unlike James with his awkward eyes too large for his head and too small everything else. Still when he leaned over me and whispered in my ears that he wanted to try something the only thing I could think of was James. 

Not that the thought lasted long. He was barely eighteen with a mouth like a whore. The boy knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled down my pants and went to work. I hadn’t cum so quickly since my early teens which were long gone. 

It became a ritual of sorts. After a good case that he solved far too easily we made our way back to my place of wine and a bit of late night fumbles. If I was lucky he’d spend the night, it had only happened twice but I cherished each time. 

He never let me touch him. He said he didn’t like his mind being ‘slowed down’ by such physical things, but he enjoyed watching my reactions. I told him that was creepy and we both laughed.

Spending time with him wasn’t what I’d call easy, he was always moving, couldn’t seem to get him to stay still for a second unless I promised him ‘data’ or a puzzle. In a way that was like James, the constant manic mixed in with the terrifying downers but he never brought me a dead dog because he said its organs were stunning. He didn’t seem to think it was his right to break into my flat every time he felt like it. 

“Did you miss me,” A cold Irish lilt asked me one day as I entered my flat and hung my keys and coat up at my door. I was lucky Sherlock had plans tonight or he would have been standing right next to me, probably making lewd suggestions in my ear so he could watch me squirm and flush.

“I guess so kid.” 

“Not a kid anymore.” I walked into the living room and sat down next to him on the couch. The boy was still a kid. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and splotchy stubble covered his cheeks giving him the appearance of a hobo. The aftershave was back and it still didn’t fit his awkward body and too big head. “In fact I am only a month younger than, what’s his name... Sherlock.”

My body tensed and he must have noticed. “Don’t worry; his organs are still in tacked for now. Don’t know what you see in him though. He is just another pretty face who thinks he can do your job better than you can.” He leaned into me and for a second I was afraid there was going to be a repeat of the last time but he stopped a few inches short of my face. 

I told him that Sherlock could do my job better and chuckled. Jim didn’t even blink. It was awkward to be so close to him. His birthday had passed a few months ago, I knew because things like that were things I remembered, and that made me feel less of a sicko as his hand slid across my thigh and my dick responded. 

I begged him to stop but he wouldn’t listen. His hands slipped under the hem of my white button down shirt and trailed through the small bit of hair I have above my pants. His dark eyes begged me to just let him do what he wanted, it was hard for me to do but I had to, I gently picked him up, he was still just as light as he’d been a year before, and set him next to me. 

I shook my head no, hoping that I might be able to make myself believe it too. I shouldn’t have wanted to see his pale skin writhing beneath me. I had a lover, a damn good lover. James stared at me. He didn’t blink. It didn’t even look like he was breathing. I was speechless. What do you tell a hormone driven teenager with mental issues to get them to back off without hurting them, or potentially driving them mad enough they kill you? That was always a fear when it came to James. 

When his chest finally started moving again a tear trickled down his cheek and I realized he had been holding them back in the moments before. My hand patted his thigh and I asked if he wanted tea. That was the proper British response. A mental case breaks into your apartment for the second time then tries to force intercourse on you; you make them a spot of tea and bring them some biscuits. 

The glare he gave me still haunts my dreams. It was wet with the tears still soaking his cheeks but with enough force it made me take a breath. I took that as a no and switched seats to the recliner I had. 

He cried and said he just wanted to make me ‘happy’. I was grateful he didn’t move seats with me when he started to scream, his fists balled and smashing the cushions beside him. I didn’t move to make him stop. There was no need and I’d much rather his anger be taken out on my furniture than on me. “Do you have a place to stay,” I asked as if subject changes ever worked. He just threw his head back and laughed which was in all honesty far more terrifying than the screaming had been. 

“You old fool,” He screamed at me, standing with enough force that the full sized couch scooted back a few centimeters. He paced the carpeted space in front of me and waved his arms around like they were helping to propel the violent words that were falling from his mouth. Of all the choice things he yelled at me I think my favorites came towards the end when he exhausted all the logical reasons for me to sleep with him and I still refused. 

To this day I don’t know why I didn’t just tell him to get out, or call the police or something. Maybe it was some misplaced since of guilt that I had brought this on myself, led the kid on in some way. The bludge in my trousers certainly hinted at that. When all the harshly spoken words ceased to fill the otherwise quiet room James took a deep breath and smiled. "You’ll pay, you bloody wanker. Sherlock owes me. He owes me." The way he shaped his mouth around the word owe was like a cheap prostitute I had purchased in Norway’s red light district. That was the only reason I had paid any attention at that point. Something I have lived to regret. 

I guess he really meant what he said. Almost twenty years later, I am standing around both boys corpses. Sherlock’s in the morgue below me, Jim’s on the roof above me. It’s funny how the one I want to see most isn’t the one I spent seventeen years chasing around, the one who’s government brother I wound up marrying or the one who was just a month older and clever enough to get me into bed. It’s the little nutzo kid who stormed into my office covered in blood. It’s the one who has haunted both my night mares and wet dreams since I met him. Whose arse I had seen take two entire fists before I deleted the video from the shady 18+ site with more sex-ring victims than my unit could ever hope to recover. I won’t go see him though. I would rather let my last memory be him smiling at me in the royal jewels. He always knew how to make an entrance. I guess making an exit was the only logical step.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time writing in first person and from Greg's POV. Also I didn't even know Jimstrade was a thing until I started writing so I hope this is okay. ^^ Thank-you for reading!


End file.
